Kids are amazing people. Sometimes as a mom, I forget how much my daughter sees. Takes in. Understands. Processes.
And when I can see it in her, I have a better chance of seeing it in me..
A few weeks ago, I found out that my 15 year old motorcycle was not worth repairing. I had taken it in to get two new tires. When the service tech called and noted the cost of many additional repairs, I stopped moving for a minute.
I stared at the ground near my feet and just breathed. I didn’t want to say goodbye to this part of my life. I did not think that would have brought me to tears.
And it did.
Before I share what my daughter (and I) learned about my tears, I’d be remiss if I didn’t honor this little 650GS Thumper. The Little Red Burro was my first motorcycle.
I saw places and met people from all over the country, including trips around Lakes Superior and Michigan multiple times. 16 states and Canada – all solo trips, many camping, for a total of 47K miles.
This bike spanned a time in my life filled with movement and change – returning to the US after living in South America, grad school, relationship changes, new jobs and houses, and the birth and first eight years of my daughter’s life.
It offered me freedom.
I felt cool, even merging into mid life on it.
It gave me the opportunity to experience travel in an intimate way, through snow, rain, hail storms and beautiful sun filled days.
I saw both rims of the Grand Canyon, Las Vegas, Dallas, California, just to name a few..
All of these images, feelings and even feelings inside my body (the felt sense if you will) were there as I worked outside in the dirt on a hot Wisconsin July day.
And while listening to some of my music from past road trips, I started crying.
As many cars drive by. As my dog stared at me from inside the house through our front windows. And then as my daughter returned home from camp and ran up to say hi.
She looked at me, and without missing a beat, touched the top of my head with her marker stained hand and asked for help making slime in the kitchen. This was a love tap, and one of her favorite ways to show me compassion. I looked up at her and smiled.
And then, we moved on. I got up and ran back with her.
As I took my shoes off at the garage door, I realized that there would be more trips. More experiences. More freedom.
And because I gave myself those moments to shed some tears and ride the wave, I could move on, to squishing slime between my hands with someone I love.
There was the feeling of how good it felt to have things come in and out of my hands, fluidly, and to be able to let go of them.
To end this post, I’ll add a shot of her, on my new GS. It has 200 ccs more power and lots more life left.
And, yes, it’ll take some time before she can be at the helm, but who knows where it might take both of us?
